”Gotta keep rockin’ keep rollin’…keep rockin’…keep rockin’ n’ rollin…keep rockin’…”

Over and over, the emaciated convict beside Juniper repeated her mantra, or perhaps it was a prayer. If the latter were to be believed, there crumbled on the sterile metal floor beside her, the prisoner prayed for stability, for some semblance of ‘sameness’ in the face of the greatest of life’s changes…the loss of freedom.  

The woman, little more than a child, wore the skin art and attire of a musician or an addict; unfortunately, the respective uniforms of each ‘profession’ tended to blur.  As was the case with most examples of tattooing and body modification, unsolicited savagery, abuse, and the marks they gifted, tended to get lost amidst the camouflage of color and piercing.  However, with their proximity, Juniper could clearly see the back of the girl’s neck, where, nestled among the ink of her tattoos, peeked the bright white puckering of scars; a macabre handwriting, chronicling a history of violence.  Notches, like the ones used to tally games of bridge, sexual conquests, or murders most foul, decorated her skin with a brutality no tattoo artist could hope to capture in ink.  With each whisper of her repetitive ‘prayer’, her broken fingernails traced the visible hash marks, as if their presence offered a tangible reminder that nightmares could be endured.

Suddenly the girl looked up at Juniper, but instead of fear, a strength, a faith bled from the husk of tortured and inked flesh.  Juniper narrowed her eyes, as if looking at the girl required the same precautions taken when staring at the sun.

‘Keep rockin’ and rollin’,’ the addict commanded.

Juniper closed her eyes; unable and unwilling to stare at a dead woman.

When she had been ‘re-introduced’ to the criminal population, Juniper had expected more aggression during the Intake process, her initial experience having soured her assumptions, but the other new arrivals were surprisingly quiet.  Maybe they were resigned, or perhaps they simply steeled themselves in pregnant silence, either way Juniper appreciated the stillness…despite the ramblings of the girl at her feet.

Red-rimmed eyes reached up through the gloom of the space and met Juniper’s and again a command was given.

”Goin’ ta keep rollin, understand? Gotta keep rockin’ right?”

Leaving the doomed girl’s gaze, Juniper’s eyes moved to the massive double doors against the room’s far wall, and though the question really couldn’t be answered, at least not for the girl at her feet, Juniper answered it for herself.

”That’s the plan.”

At that moment, four yellow globe-housed LEDs illuminated beside the massive portal and swirled in a jaundiced aura.  A symphony drum took up residence in Juniper’s chest and lent its rapid, thunderous beat to the mounting tension of the seconds.  A cold sweat covered her body, chilling her with thoughts of defeat, but with a physical shake of her head, Juniper expelled anything that might slow her down…including the ballast of potential failure.

Behind them, the wall squealed and ground in poorly lubricated inevitability and moved to meet the far wall, causing the crowd of damned women to be herded toward the double door ‘Womb’ of the vast cellblock known as West Egg.  A few of the women screamed in defiance of the coming storm, seeking the state of the primal in the face of certain Armageddon.  

Rumors of what was to come had infected the rest of the criminals, and though she hadn’t lent any of her knowledge, Juniper was surprised that they had divined at least the basics of what would occur in the next few minutes.  

The crowd knew that Hell would fall as soon as the door opened.

The great ‘Womb’ cracked and the first touch of West Egg blew against the condemned.  Juniper was immediately reminded of a farm she had once visited as a young girl.  Earthy smells of sweat and soil wafted over them, but the scents of West Egg paled next to the eager roars of the gathered Nurses.  With each second the portal grew wider, the wall behind them pressed forward, and the barbarous women, The Nurses, grew closer.  Unconsciously, Juniper rolled her shoulders, trying in vain to relieve the tension in her muscles.

When the opening had grown wide enough to allow a single arm to squeeze through, a club appeared from nowhere and cracked the head of one of the terrified new prisoners, showering the group in a mist of blood.

”WELCOME TO THE EGG!”, screamed the still hidden club-wielder from the other side of the door.

Panic gripped the crowd, as the brained woman slumped to the floor, and Juniper took the opportunity to move to the extreme left side of the room.

 

Chaos, with all its trimmings, arrived.

The new arrivals were pulled from the widening maw by the Nurses, like children ripped from the Womb, and all the while, Juniper stayed in the shadows, waiting for the far wall to push her out of the opening.  Her periphery gifted her with scenes so terrifying that a tear bled from her eye, as the new prisoners were beaten and violated by the fearsome Nurses.

The shadows vanished, the wall finished its push, and the doors opened completely, revealing Juniper to the Nurses, West Egg, and the whims of Fate. The last thing she saw was the thin drug addict, or perhaps she truly was a musician, being savagely beaten by the angry knuckles of a massive Nurse.  Through broken teeth and flowing blood, she continued to scream, her eyes locked on Juniper.

”KEEP ROLLIN’…KEEP ROCKIN’!!!’

”Now!” hissed Juniper.

Wild eyes, soaked with the insanity of the caged, turned her way and smiled with yellow, and in some cases, filed teeth, but before they could pounce, Juniper’s red sneakers blurred, like the flames of Mercury put to task.  Taken completely by surprise, the Nurses failed to contain her. Their roars of rage absolute echoed throughout the slaughter ground, when Juniper shot away against the curve of the Egg’s dome.  Three of the Nurses quickly fell into pursuit, eager to heel such an impetuous Child.  

Around the edge of the scene, some of the general population witnessed Juniper’s escape, and having felt the savagery of the Nurses, started a chant that quickly spread through the Yard.

”ORPHAN!!  ORPHAN!!  ORPHAN!!”

She flew, an Angel caged but not clipped.

Over the pounding of her heart and the burning in her lungs, Juniper Moore muttered her own ‘prayer’…one strengthened by the faith of the doomed musician.

‘Run for your baby, for your baby. Run, Juniper…RUN!’

And so she ran.